


Prompts: Dirty

by allegoricalrose (SilentStars)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alley Sex, Bathing/Washing, Bondage, Crack, Dimension Hopping Rose, F/M, Fake Marriage, Handcuffs, One Shot Collection, PWP, Tropes, oxytocin, up against a wall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:06:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3062033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentStars/pseuds/allegoricalrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts via tumblr (all Doctor/Rose). <i>Smutty edition</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nine/Rose; Festive; Fish

**Author's Note:**

> These first few came from [this](http://allegoricalrose.tumblr.com/post/91650733264/prompt-me) prompt on Tumblr: a pairing, a random emotion, and a random noun.
> 
> Nine/Rose; festive; fish

He’s doing his awkward little dance, lips pursed and limbs cavorting in jerky rhythms; it’s the least sexy act she’s ever seen but it’s this that finally causes her to snap, throw in the towel, give up the ghost. Brushing past the half-inebriated throng of only vaguely humanoid aliens, she edges up to his side and runs a sweaty finger down his bare arm to catch his attention. The falter in his rhythm is almost indiscernible but it’s there and when he slowly turns around, a goofy smile plastered on his face so thick and rigid it could have been applied with brick and motor, she feels the fissures in her heart deepen.

And the humming in her chest move south.

“Having fun?” His gaze is so stubbornly fixed on her eyes that he might as well be admitting his desire to trail it (and his hands) up and down her bikini-clad body.

“Could be having more fun,” she lilts in a honeyed voice. Her hand is still closed around his arm, her other hand reaching up to toy with his gaudy pink lei. He’s still trying to dance, trying desperately to seem put-together and unaffected.

He swallows and drops his eyes only for an instant down to her hand. “Do you…we can make our goodbyes, if you’re bored.”

“Yes. I want to go back to the TARDIS,” she replies in a sultry tone. “But I’m not bored.”

His hips still. His eyes finally break free of their self-imposed binds and managed to dash across the whole of her body before he catches them again. His breath hitches.

“Rose… Did you…did you eat anything just now? There’s a type of fish here that has psychogenic properties when it’s not cooked properly, you, um…”

“I haven’t eaten anything.”

“Or the wine here, it’s more potent than you’re used to, it—”

“I’ve only had the water you tested for me.”

“What about—”

“Nope,” she interrupts, sliding her finger further up his arm. “I’m sober and in my right mind. And I want to go back to the TARDIS. With you.”

His eyes open so wide she worries she might fall in. He licks his lips, nervously at first, and then again. The second lip wetting is slower, more deliberate.

It’s not just his lips that his tongue is wetting.

He pulls her flush against his body with a hand on the small of her back, his other arm moving parallel to her spine and bunching his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck. “We don’t have to be in the TARDIS to have more fun,” he whispers. His voice is low but it’s also shaky.

“No,” she agrees in a matching unsteady voice, “in fact, that alleyway over there looks rather…amusing.”

The beating of the synthetic drum is eardrum-shattering and urgent but all she hears is the urgency of the blood rushing through her ears; the festive crowd around them is heaving and buzzing but all she feels is the heaving of her strangled breath and the buzzing between her legs. There’s a moment of absolute silence, a millisecond when the chaotic throng halts in place and stills their lips, a beat between the beating of the drums.

“Yeah,” he chokes out finally.

And then he grabs her hand and they run through the parting sea of sentience faster than they’ve ever run from danger. And when they’re ensconced in the blanketing alleyway shadow he presses her against the abrasive brick wall. And then his lips smash against hers, sucking and drawing the very air from her lungs like he’s drowning, and she rakes her fingers down his t-shirt until her trembling hands find the seam and slip underneath. And her fingertips press into his skin and his lips drop to her neck and her hips rut into his and his hardened length only stokes the fire blazing between her legs.

It’s not enough.

Neither even glance around the alley to assess their visibility as they frantically rip off each other’s scraps of clothing, not even bothering to fully undress or explore the novel patches of skin. His jeans are barely off his hips when he lifts her up and fully sheathes himself inside, their mutual groans far too loud for public subtlety. Neither have the mental capacity to care.

As she wraps her legs around his hips, he’s able to move one arm behind her back in order to shield her tender skin from the excoriating brick and then he’s thrusting, pounding, drumming into her very core. It’s fast, it’s rough, it’s imperative, and she bites down on the side of her neck to stifle her needy screams.

“Rose, I can’t…please…”

She bites down harder as his pistoning becomes dysrhythmic and desperate, digging her nails into his back. The sound of his helpless grunt and the pulsing of his cool seed send her over the edge with him, kicking and screaming and flailing in the sticky moonlit night. Her walls pulse in time with the sound of the tempered drumming that’s only now beginning to re-enter her consciousness and she can’t help her hips spasming into his as she comes down from the high.

A breeze on her sweaty neck and behind her kneecaps sends shivers down her spine and without letting her down or slipping out of her he moves closer into her body, burying his face into her shoulder. He’s panting, his breath hot on her neck, and her own heavy respiration falls in sync with his.

“TARDIS?” he finally forces out between ragged inhalations.

“TARDIS.”


	2. Ten/Rose; Enraged; Carrot

“Don’t even…” the Doctor growled, his eyebrows angled and his lips jutting forward.

Jack acknowledged his strop with only a wink before leaning into Rose again and whispering in her ear. She turned the colour of her namesake and giggled, turning her face away from the Captain’s but not disengaging herself from his side.

A thundercloud was forming above the Doctor’s head and it certainly wasn’t because they were on the planet of personalised weather patterns. 

“Chill out, Doc, I’m not making a move on her,” Jack bantered with a cheeky grin, “I’m not suicidal.” He turned back to Rose. “Or _big_ on being booted out into the vortex.”

Rose giggled again, ducking her head, and the thundercloud became electrically charged.

Putting his arm around her waist, Jack steered her toward the vegetable stall. It was a cool day, the sky wind-free and cloudless (except over the Doctor’s head), and the marketplace was teeming with non-humanity. Wordlessly he held up a mushroom and she pressed her lips together to keep back the snort of laughter that erupted in her diaphragm and shook her head, not daring to glance back at the Doctor.

Jack’s fingers shamelessly fondled the selection of fruit as he explored the wide selection. With a sinful smirk, he cupped a rather stumpy but thick carrot, nodding at her significantly as he scraped a nail lightly down its length.

She couldn’t contain the snort this time.

“Try this, then,” Jack said in a deep, sensual tone. He pulled off a banana from a large bunch, languidly peeled back the skin, and proffered her a bite. No one in the open-air market missed how his finger stroked the bottom end of the stem as he held it out.

Rose closed her eyes and gamely took a bite but couldn’t help choking slightly when it hit the back of her throat just as she erupted into giggles again. She felt a cool hand on her shoulder and the brush of jacket tails on the back of her legs.

When she was done spluttering, she shook her head again and, with a playful glance behind her, she picked up a mammoth cucumber and handed it to the bemused stall vendor along with a credit stick.

Jack choked on his own mouthful of the remaining banana.

“There, we done?” the Doctor muttered but they all heard the smugness colouring his words.

“Yep,” Jack forced out between coughs, his eyes sparking with disbelief and glee.

“Good.” The Doctor pulled Rose away from the defrocked Captain’s hold and draped his arm firmly around her waist. “Back to the TARDIS then.”


	3. Ten/Rose; Brave; Screw

“I really screwed up, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes.”  
Rose shifted her weight onto her other leg and sighed. The Doctor bit his lip and looked down at the floor, shuffling his toes along the thick carpet threads.

“Would it have killed you to just say yes?”

“No, but…I didn’t think…”

Rose sighed again. “I’m sure it’s degrading for you to let people think you would ever lower yourself to…be with someone like me, but… Well, it’s done now.”

His eyes shot up and he stared at her as she had suddenly sprouted Ood-tentacles out her mouth. “ _Lower_ myself? I…” He halted, clearing his throat. “Trust me, that never crossed my mind.”

She softened slightly but maintained her sharp gaze. “Whatever. Doesn’t change the fact that I have to _marry_ their priest now. Even if it _is_ just ceremonial… It’s humiliating! They’re effectively saying I’m hopelessly single and might as well be wed to the church.”

“They’re just trying to look out for you, it’s dangerous to be unmarried here. Illegal, too.”

“And you can’t just…summon the TARDIS?”

“No. Doesn’t work like that. I’m sorry,” he repeated, hanging his head.

“Well. You’ll just have to marry me instead.”

“What?” The Doctor actually stumbled backward, barely catching himself from tripping over a vase.

“Yup. If it’s just ceremonial, what does it matter? You just said it wouldn’t be lowering yourself.”

“I…I did, and that’s true, but… Rose, it’s one thing being ceremonially married to a priest on some planet you’ll probably never come back to, it’s another thing to get married to each other…”

“Why? It wouldn’t mean anything.”

The Doctor muttered something under his breath, his shoulders slumped.

“What? Can’t hear you; speak up, you daft alien.”

“It would mean something to me,” he mumbled despondently, only just audible.

She blinked. “Why?”

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds but eventually a look of resolution crossed his face. He looked as though he was about to fling himself into the dark. “Because…because, Rose Tyler, when I marry you I want it to mean something, not just…not just to appease a bloody government.”

She blinked again. “What?”

“I want to marry you. One day, not…not now, I know…”

“You’ve never even kissed me!”

“Um, that’s not _technically_ true, but um, fair point. I, um, I’m used to taking these things slow, byproduct of have such a long lifespan, I suppose… I wanted to make sure you felt the same way and…It should be done just right, not after a life or death situation or in order to…and there should be candles and—”

She cut his babbling off with a firm shove to his chest and he fell backward onto the four-poster bed. The bed that they’d shared for the last week without incident (if sexual tension didn’t count as an incident). She crawled up his stunned body and straddled his hips.

“So I suppose that, being human with such a short lifespan, I’m allowed take things faster then, huh?”

He gulped. “Yes, I mean, of—”

She cut him off again, this time with her mouth on his. For all his bluster and hesitancy, he responded immediately, opening his lips at the first touch of her tongue along its seam and wrapping his arms around her to draw her closer. It wasn’t a duel, their lips sparring; it was an uncontested slaughter of the walls protecting their three hearts.

He was hard, pressing against her stomach insistently, and she wiggled her hips down to lock onto his length.

“Rose…” he moaned against her lips.

She said nothing, only disengaging her lips from his with a load smack and a Doctoral whimper. Maintaining constant eye contact, she slid down his chest until her mouth was situated directly over the top of his pinstriped trousers.

“So we’re done with the slow way?” She brushed the palm of her hand against the straining bulge as she spoke.

“Yes!” he squeaked, raising himself up onto his elbows to watch her. “But Rose, you don’t—”

She unbuttoned the clasp and unzipped his fly so excruciatingly slowly that he couldn’t stop his hips thrusting involuntarily against her hand. A wolfish smile appeared across her face.

“No more slow?” she confirmed.

“Fast,” he choked out, “speedy, hastily, swiftly…is good. Good.”

She tugged at his trousers, pulling down his black boxer briefs at the same time, and no more than a second later she’d engulfed him whole.

“Rose!” he yelped. “I…Oh, fuck. Fuck! Your mouth is so warm, and…” A second later as she hollowed her cheeks and swallowed him down her throat, any words he may have been trying to say were gone. She pulled back, grazing her teeth lightly across the sensitive skin, and he gripped the sheets to keep from bucking into her mouth.

She had just started a mind-liquefying rhythm of sucking and running her tongue up and down his shaft when a loud knock at the door almost startled her into biting down.

“Lady Tyler, it’s past time; you need to go down to the ceremony, now! They’ve been waiting,” the disembodied voice demanded testily.

“Fuck,” she muttered and carefully tucked his still hard and throbbing length back into his trousers. He was panting heavily and his eyes were too glazed over to do anything but stare at her.

“Run for the TARDIS?” she suggested with a laugh.

“TARDIS,” he dazedly responded and took her hand.


	4. Ten/Rose; Gratitude

When she stumbles, still running, onto the dry and dying grass, she has to blink a couple to times to clear her clearly distorted vision. But it remains, the blue box remains, and when she reaches out to touch it, it’s solid and reassuring.

“Hello, old friend,” she whispers, stroking the faux wood. “Is he in there?”

As always, she receives no linguistic words from the ship but an emotion of affirmation tinged with sorrow flashes across her mind and she smiled. Her gun is flung carelessly to the ground as she rummages through layers to find her precious key. It fits the lock with ease and she pushes open the door with untempered anticipation. And he’s there, just like she’d imagined a billion times, sitting in the jump seat in his pinstripes, staring at her like she’s an apparition. 

And while she isn’t entirely surprised to see more lines in the corner of his eyes or an air of weariness pervading his body language, she is taken aback when he jumps up and skitters backward, his hands in front of himself as if she’s an unfriendly ghost.

“No, you can’t be here, you…”

“Doctor! I came back, I…why are you so scared? I’m real, promise! We’ve been working on this—”

He stops moving but his shoulders slump even further and he closes his eyes. “I know. You’re…you’re too far forward in my time stream. You’ve already come back.”

“Ah. Damn.” She glances around the TARDIS. “Paradox, reapers, got it. But as long as I don’t touch myself—that came out a little wrong—I mean, as long as I don’t interact with my future-self here, we’ll be okay, right? I assume I’m sleeping?”

“Can’t get reapers in the vortex, we’re outside time and space,” he says quietly, looking down at the grating. She notices that he’s not made eye contact with her since they started talking.

“Great. Can I…can I have a hug?”

He looks so conflicted she’s almost sorry she asked, his face a painful mixture of longing and regret. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he mutters, his eyes still trained on the floor.

“Oh. Um, okay. But at least I get back to you, right? So I’ll get that hug soon?”

He softens and finally looks up at her. “Oh, yes. You get back to me, my brave one. You…you no less than save the entire multiverse.”

A smile slides across her face and finally, _finally_ , he matches it with one of his own, albeit a small one. “It’s just…It’s been a long three years and sometimes…” She bites her lip to stop its trembling. “Sometimes it seems like I’ll never make it, like I’ll be looking for you forever.”

His arms are around her before she can take another shaky breath and she buries her head in his chest. “You will,” he murmurs into her hair, his cheek dropping to rest on top of her head, “you will and from the looks of your clothing, it will be very, very soon.”

“Yeah?” she sniffles into his jacket.

“Yes.”

“I still love you, you know,” she whispers into the safety of his now damp chest.

He stiffens and starts to pull away but she holds him tight. He doesn’t protest. “I know,” he finally says, “and when I say it back, we’ll start our forever. That’s when you’ll know.”

When she breaks free just enough to raise her lips to his, there’s no more hesitation left in his bones, he’s used up all his restraint. He responds to her mouth with desperation and need, quickly gaining the upper hand as he captures her lower lip and caresses her tongue and strokes every crevice of her mouth.

“I’m grateful for every second we have and had and will have together, Rose Tyler,” he intones against her mouth. “I’m grateful for each time you save my life and the untold times you saved my soul.” He drops his lips down to trail across her jaw and down neck. “And whether we’re together for an hour or until the universe ends, know that you’re my beginning and you’re my end.”

She chokes out some unintelligible noise and reaches for the buttons of his jacket, flicking them open and pushing it off his arms. He pauses in his lips’ expedition, his resolve obviously wavering again, but she wins, oh, she wins, and he shrugs it to the floor. Her own jacket goes next, unzipped and flung to the side, and his hands at once slide under her t-shirt to press against her skin.

“Doctor,” she pleads, pulling herself flush against him and feeling his arousal pressing insistently into her belly.

He lifts her up, his hands beneath her bum and her legs straddling his hips, and carries her to a non-descript room she’s never seen before; white wooden bed, white sheets, white walls. Not once do his lips leave her neck.

As he lays her down on the fluffy white duvet, she catches a glimpse of his eyes, dark and hooded, and a shiver runs down her spine. She’s aching for him, wet and completely ready, but he undresses her slowly as if he’s savouring every second. His lips transverse every centimetre of her skin, from behind her neck to the soles of her feet, and he never once says a word. When she starts rubbing her thighs together in need, he stops her with his tongue just where she needs it and two fingers languorously pumping inside her heat.

When she comes, she comes hard, clenching his head between her legs for dear life, calling out his name like an incantation. When he slips inside her and rocks against her with smooth, long strokes, she bites down on his shoulder. When she comes again, it’s with a bang; he comes with a whimper.

And when the cannon beeps its warning and she slips out of bed, heart curiously heavy for what just transpired, he still doesn’t say anything, just squeezes her hand for a moment and curls up in a foetal position when she presses the button.

Between the idea  
And the reality  
Between the motion  
And the act  
Falls the Shadow  
 _For Thine is the Kingdom_

Between the conception  
And the creation  
Between the emotion  
And the response  
Falls the Shadow  
 _Life is very long_

Between the desire  
And the spasm  
Between the potency  
And the existence  
Between the essence  
And the descent  
Falls the Shadow  
 _For Thine is the Kingdom_

For Thine is  
Life is  
For Thine is the

_This is the way the world ends  
This is the way the world ends  
This is the way the world ends  
Not with a bang but a whimper._

-T.S. Eliot


	5. Nine/Rose; Fuming; Battery

She became aware of two things simultaneously upon waking.

  * There was a hot and sticky body pressed up against her. 
    * She was hot and sticky too.
    * They were both hot and sticky.
    * They were hot and sticky because they were pressed together, the feather duvet cocooning them both in its cocoon of heat.
  * Her phone was ringing. 
    * It wasn’t a normal ringtone.
    * It was a witch’s cackle.
      * A witch’s cackle is not an ideal way to wake up.
    * The Doctor must have re-programmed it.



“ _Doctor_ ,” she whined and struggled against the tangled duvet and his even tighter arms, “let me, I can’t, argh!”

“Five more minutes,” he murmured, his eyes still closed. He pulled her closer and dozily smacked his lips in satisfaction. “Nice dream.”

Blowing sweaty strands of hair out of her face, she wiggled her legs. Two more facts came to light.

  * His lips were mere centimetres from her lips.
    * His tongue occasionally darted out to wet them.
    * His tongue, it was…distracting.
  * He wasn’t wearing any trousers.
    * His legs were surprisingly hairy.
    * They tickled her matching bare legs.
    * (Her legs were _not_ hairy.)



The insistent buzzing was making her anxious ( _this_  is what voicemail was invented for) and she felt her heart racing in her chest.

  * She could also feel _his_ hearts racing in her chest.
  * She could also feel his sonic screwdriver poking into her stomach.
    * His sonic was on the bedside table.
    * His hearts weren’t racing from anxiety
    * Neither was hers.



She cleared her throat. He nuzzled into her neck.

“You’re delicious,” he mumbled. And then he licked her neck. And then he used his lips to add suction.

“You’re dreaming,” she realised. Or she was. This wasn’t… This wasn’t a thing they…did.

“Your phone is ringing. I’m not dreaming.”

“Your, um, morning salute is insistently jabbing me.”

“That’s the idea,” he agreed and moved his lips further south.

  * She was hot and sticky for a new reason
  * His lips were sinful.



Her phone’s clattering ceased for a glorious moment. It started again. He grabbed it and pressed the green button.

  * Rose could hear her mum’s furious voice over the tiny speakers something about missing bananas and not answering phone calls and length of—oh, yes, his lips  _there_  felt good—time passing and possibly a particularly bitter diatribe about shepherds in the fields abiding no pie definitely pie and



The Doctor pointed his sonic at the garble

“Oops! Out of battery,” he rasped into her skin at the seam between her vest top and breast. “Shame.”

  * His lips they were they moved and they his lips they gjgghgghjhh




	6. Ten/Rose; Eager; Bath (pt1)

**_She doesn’t catch on when he follows her into her bedroom after a long day._ **

"Oh. Um, okay." She shifted her weight to her other hip and bit her lip. He was just standing there, watching her with an inscrutable look in his eyes. "You’re not, um tired?"

"Exhausted."

She wanted to relax her shoulders, let out her breath, but she couldn’t. Not while he was still staring at her like he’d asked a question and was awaiting her reply.

"Me too." He didn’t move. "Really tired." He nodded, his eyes not leaving hers. She feigned a yawn that morphed into a real one. He mirrored it.

"Right. I’m just going to change, then." She bent down to pilfer through a pile of clothes on the floor for a relatively clean pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. His eyes followed every movement.

"In the bathroom."

He nodded.

_**She doesn’t catch on when he’s standing in only his undershirt and trousers when she returns.** _

"Oh!" she startled and then blushed. "Sorry, you…" She clawed for a last wisp of composure before it fluttered away completely. "Didn’t realise Time Lords had arms."

He scrunched up his forehead. “What?”

"I’m joking, I just don’t think I’ve ever seen the skin on your arms. You’re always in your jacket. You like layers."

"I like taking off layers, too," he said softly.

Composure gone. What did she do when she was relaxed? Smile? Yes. She could smile. Tongue. She usually brushed her tongue along her lips. That could be done.

His eyes snapped down to her tongue.

_**She doesn’t catch on when he asks if he can stay with her tonight.** _

"Yes!" she cried and immediately clamped a metaphorical hand over her mouth. "I mean, of course you can. But…why?"

He ducked his head and mumbled something she couldn’t quite make out but it may have involved nightmares. Or night bears. She hoped it was the former. Never could tell with him and his ship.

"You’re always welcome in my bed."

_Shit._

That was not exactly what she meant to say.

He lit up.

"Brilliant!" He leapt into the side of the bed closest to the door and wriggled his lean legs under the covers. There was a distinct eyebrow waggle as he patted the empty half. "Coming?"

She may or may not have squeaked.

"Actually, I was just thinking, just now, um, that my muscles are a little achy, so—"

_**She doesn’t catch on when he offers to give her a massage.** _

"I’m really quite good; here, lay down and—"

Yes. Yes yes yes. "Thanks, but…I can just take a bath…I’ve got new bubble bath and everything," she said weakly.

"Are you sure?" He wiggled his digits at her. "I’ve got magic fingers…"

She closed her eyes momentarily. “I’m sure you…do…but it’s… I know you’re tired, I’ll take a quick bath and then, um, come to bed.”

**_She’s embarrassed to say that she doesn’t even catch on when he asks if he can join her. In the bath._ **

"What?" Surely she’d misunderstood.

"Can I join you? In the bath?" There was no room for misinterpretation as he repeated himself.

"Yes?" She didn’t know what else to say. ‘No’ was clearly not something she was willing to utter.

"Yeah?"

"I guess…I mean, if you want…"

"I want." He beamed and she was almost blinded by its intensity.

He was alien. It was innocent, it had to be. He didn’t…do this kind of thing. Probably wasn’t attracted to naked human bodies; likely wouldn’t even notice. She swallowed and mustered all her depleted reserves to appear nonchalant.

"Okay. Sounds good." ( _sounds good?_ ) ”I’ll turn on the water…I usually like the water really hot, but if you prefer it a little cooler—”

"Hot is…good."

"Yeah…" She shook her head to clear it. It did not clear.

He got out of bed and stood behind her as she knelt to adjust the water settings.

_**She begins to catch on when he brushes his hand up along her arm and rests it on her shoulder.** _

"Think it’s done." She stood up.

"Yeah."

Nothing else for it: he hadn’t skittered away and it was time to disrobe. The steam in the room was almost thicker than the tension.

She slipped off her sleep shorts. He pulled off his t-shirt.

She peeled off her t-shirt. He unbuttoned his trousers.

She dragged her eyes kicking and screaming up to his, her arm bend behind her back with a finger on the bra clasp. “Yeah?

He lowered his zipper. “Yes.”

He stepped out of his trousers. No pants. She stapled her gaze to his chest. _Don’t make this weird_ , she berated herself; no need to make a fool of herself and assume more than he was offering. She was a recently evolved ape and he was a demi-god.

"Let me?" he asked quietly. She hesitated and then nods in acquiescence; he unhooks her bra and it falls to the marble tile. 

He ghosts his hands down her hips and brushes his fingers along the seam of her knickers.

He kneels in front of her.

He looks up at her, his eyes achingly eager and questioning.

She bites her increasingly tender lip and lays her hands over his. Three water droplets fall from the taps into the water. Four. Five.

_She squeezes his hands as they together lower the strip of white cotton to the floor and he holds her hips as she steps out of them._

_His close-trimmed nails dig into her skin. She rakes her longer ones through his hair._

_**She catches on. She catches on when he presses his lips against her naval and she catches on when he trails his mouth up her torso to her open mouth. She catches on when he kisses her and when she pulls him closer and when she feels the hard evidence of his arousal against her hipbone. And when he lowers his mouth to trace circles around her taut nipples and when she moans and rocks into him and when he responds in kind. When he moves lower and his tongue is gently parting her folds and he doesn’t tease and her walls are contracting rhythmically around his magic fingers. When he slowly backs her onto the bed and when he kisses her while he slides inside her and when he’s moving within her so tenderly she wants to cry…that’s when.** _

_**That’s when she catches on and doesn’t let go.** _


	7. Ten/Rose: Eager/Bath pt2

Rose gasped for air as her heart rate slowly returned to normal; the Doctor momentarily collapsed on top of her before rolling to the side and burrowing his face into her chest. His cool breath felt heavenly on her hot skin and she snaked her legs in between his.

Laughing breathlessly, she idly stroked his hair. “That was…”

"Brilliant. That was brilliant," he finished for her when she couldn’t find any words; where were they? Where were all the words that used to live in her brain? All that came to mind now were ‘more,’ ‘closer,’ and nonsense syllables (there may have been one other four letter word in there, but even her six orgasm-fried brain knew better than to utter that one…)

"Sweaty…" Well. There was another one.

"Mmm, you are deliciously sweaty," he hummed against the upper swell of her breasts, "I like you all sweaty. I made you this sweaty. This sheen is all mine, Rose Tyler." He paused and looked up at her behind half-lidded eyes. "And I may just need to reclaim it."

"Wha—ahh, Doctor!" A mischievous gleam in his eyes, he suddenly pressed his tongue flat against her breast bone and licked straight up to the dip in her neck. He held her eye as he ran his tongue down again, this time forging a path leading to her right nipple. Swirling the tip of his tongue around the dusky base for a moment, he gave no warning when he closed his mouth over the stiff peak, sucking and slightly biting.

"Doctor!" She squirmed in his arms; this was not helping the sweaty situation. Not by far.

"What?" he asked innocently, his mouth still encircling its prize. "You’re very sweaty here; I’m doing my part to clean you up. Only fair, after all."

"I’m not sure about that, but I’m not complaining."

"Quite right, too." He moved to her other breast. "Social grooming commencing in 3, 2, 1." 

"Wouldn’t have struggled so much with that anthropology module if I’d known social grooming entailed this…"

He stopped, moving up so his eyes were level with hers. “I can teach you all kinds of things about anthropology,” he said lowly, lowering his lips to hers. “Social grooming, biology…” His lips brushed along her lips and landed at their corner. “Psychophysiology… For example, when your body is excited by an external stimulus—” He punctuated the word with a firm roll of his hips into hers. “—your sympathetic nervous system produces more sweat via your eccrine glands; it’s a measure of physiological arousal.”

Rocking her hips back into his with re-awakened heat, she tilted her neck back as he trailed his lips along her jawline. 

"Vasodilation of the blood vessels in your face also commonly occurs." He lifted his lips from her neck with a loud ‘pop’ and studied her face intently; unsurprisingly, under his scrutiny, she felt her cheeks warm up.

"There! Molto bene! The blush. Do you know, Rose, that blushing is an important component of social interaction in humans? You’re more likely to trust people who blush occasionally because it shows that they have good social skills and adherence to social norms. People who blush are more generous and caring, too."

Halfway through his soliloquy, he’d rolled her over onto her back and spoke his last few words into her navel, her hip bones, her inner thigh. If she’d wanted to respond to his neurobabble, it all went completely out the window when his mouth closed over her clit and suctioned down. She bucked into his face in surprise and the vibration from his laughter only intensified the twitching need surging through her veins.

When he released her and crawled back up her body, his face was glistening. “Of course, you should know that I failed human anthropology too. Theoretical lessons are boring; field work is the way to go. Care for some hands-on experience?”

His own proof of arousal was hard and clamouring for attention at her leg and she smiled, tongue in teeth. “Yes, please.”

He hesitated. “Not too soon?” he asked softly, his brow furrowed.

"Not soon enough," she whispered and lined him up with her entrance. 

"No truer words," he groaned as he sank down inside her again, her walls already contracting against him in welcome. 

Her seventh and his second climax later, she rolled over on top of him, refusing to sever their connection.

"But I’m still sweaty. Sweaty and sticky; deliriously happy, but still. Very, very sticky."

"Mmm…" he hummed and stroked her hair. "I like you sticky. No need to move from this spot; let’s just stay here forever."

"As tempting as that sounds, I have a better proposition." He lazily blinked open his eyes before closing them again.

"You might like sweaty and sticky, but I prefer slippery. How about that bath?"

His eyes opened fully. “Slippery. Yes, I think you have a point there; see, I’m learning new anthropological facts every day. Let’s see what else there is to discover.”

Friction and water was the next lesson (luckily the countertops were just the right height).


	8. Ten/Rose; Accepting; Underclothes

"It’s not that big of a deal, Doctor."

"It is! How dare they expect something like this? We’re honoured guests, not honorary zoo animals!" He pulled his coat tighter around himself.

"To each culture its own, I guess. It is a little weird to insist on only underclothes at dinner but it’s not like I’ve not seen weirder customs… Remember on that pink planet how you had to wear that feathered taffeta—”

He shuddered. “Don’t remind me. But that was different. That was putting on things, not taking them off.”  
Rose unzipped her jumper and shrugged off the sleeves. “Look, eating dinner in my skivvies isn’t exactly my cup of tea either, I’m bound to spill something hot on myself, but they’re so eager to thank us after you developed that vaccine…”

"If they’re so eager to please us they can change their traditions for one night," he muttered, turning up his collar.

She toed off her trainers and stepped closer to the rigid Time Lord. “Doctor, is there a…reason you don’t want to undress? If you’re worried that I’ll ogle you or something—”

"No!" he squeaked and scratched the back of his neck. "That is, no. I, um…my skin isn’t like yours, Rose, and a side effect of being a touch telepath is that I’m really…sensitive."

"Oh," she hummed in sudden understanding, "that’s why you’re always wearing so many layers?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, studying his feet with great fascination.

She bit her lip, glancing down at his rapidly tapping fingers. “Does it hurt when we hold hands?”

He met her eye with a small smile. “Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually. I promise.”

Her resultant smile was infectious and his grew in response. She took another step toward him, raising her arms but then suddenly clenching her fists and dropping them back down to her sides.

"What about hugging?" she asked, bracing herself for the answer.

"Nope!" he popped and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Never…" he whispered against her ear as he pulled back.

"Then why…?"

"I’m just sensitive to, um, non-animate objects. It’s not usually a problem and it’s not painful anyway, just uncomfortable. Forget about it, I’ll survive."

"But surely clothes would be just as bad?" she asked, confused.

"Nah. My clothes are special made: non-irritating fabric."

"Oh. So, like, the chair will irritate your bare back?"

"Mmm. And, like it said, it’s not usually a problem, it’s just that the air here…it has a high concentration of…well, something my skin doesn’t like."

"But your face and hands are exposed, don’t they hurt?"

"No, um, not really, it’s fine. They don’t hurt because…well, it’s fine."

He was acting shifty, no doubt about it. “Why doesn’t it hurt, Doctor?”

"You…" He swallowed. "You make it better."

"What? How? I mean, great, but how?"

"It doesn’t really matter, Rose, let’s just…let’s get ready. I’ll be fine."

She put her hands on her hips. “Tell me.”

"Rose…"

"If I’m doing something to help, I think it’s only fair I know what!"

"Fine," he sighed and tugged at his hair. "Oxytocin. Social touch that’s…um, affectionate in nature releases oxytocin, which is anxiolytic and buffers the negative effects of my tactile hypersensitivity. And you’ve been holding my hand all day so…"

"When I touch you, it doesn’t hurt as much?" Her grin was wide and shyly pleased.

He exhaled and fiddled with the buttons of his coat. “Yeah. Your touch makes everything better, Rose Tyler.”

She laughed, then, and threw her arms around him. “I guess you really are stuck with me.”

"Guess so," he sighed playfully, pulling her closer, but then his words grew more somber. "I’ll never be able to let you go."

Still in his arms, she lifted her head to look at him. “So, oxytocin, huh? Do hugs give off more oxytocin than hand holding?”

He smiled fondly down at her, tucking her back into his chest and resting his chin on top of her head. “About the same; hand holding is skin-to-skin but hugs are deeper pressure.” His throat tickled her forehead as he spoke, deep and low.

She tightened her arms around him as something shifted in the infinitesimal space between their bodies and her skin tingled. Part of her brain screamed out for her to do something to cut the thickness that had pervaded the room, Another part urged something else altogether.

"Does that mean a naked hug would be the best?" Her tone was supposed to be cheeky but it came out as husky instead.

He cleared his throat and stiffened in her arms but he didn’t pull away.

His muscles weren’t the only things stiffening against her.

"Rose…"

Squeezing close her eyes, she concentrated on breathing. Eventually she was able to force out an unintelligible noise in response; it was more a mewl than anything else, but there was at least a questioning intonation at its end.

"I think…I think we should get ready…for dinner," he forced out in reply to her eloquence. She chanced a look up at him without moving her head; his eyes were screwed closed, too.

Three more shaky breaths were necessary before she could attempt to reply. “We don’t have to go, we can just leave them a note.”

He leant down and brushed his lips against her hair before gently extracting himself from her protesting grip. “No, you were right: we should go.” She couldn’t catch his eye but she did glimpse a flush retreating from his face.

"Doctor, I don’t want you to suffer, it’s not worth all that." She knelt down to retrieve her jumper. "We’ll thank them and leave."

"If you hold my hand once in awhile tonight, I can make it," he said softly, almost pleadingly.

"Any time. All the time. But…are you sure?"

"Any excuse to hold your hand," he affirmed, the blush returning to his cheeks.

A slow smile crept up her face and she turned away before he saw her grinning like a loon. Before she could psych herself out any further, she whipped off her vest top and unbuttoned her jeans. She heard him doing the same across the room.

It was too much.

With a sudden and likely fleeting burst of confidence (or suicidal impulse: unknown), she crossed the distance between them in only her knickers and bra (and, no, she wasn’t lucky enough to have accidently matched them that morning). His fingers were on his trouser button and his face was a perfect impression of a deer caught in headlights.

"Doctor?" she asked, barely louder than a whisper. His eyes widened even further and were staring feverishly at a point above her head. "Can you store up oxytocin? If you produced loads, would it last for awhile?"

He closed his eyes as he nodded.

"What’s the best way of releasing oxytocin? What’s the optimal kind of touch?" She brushed her fingertips along his bare chest.

The Doctor inhaled a shallow breath and held it. When he didn’t answer after a few lengthy seconds, she trailed her fingers further down to his stomach, scratching lightly at the translucent skin below his naval.

"See, I may not have taken my A-levels, but I didn’t skip biology completely. And I remember that in humans, at least, high levels of oxytocin are released after a specific act that does indeed require quite a bit of…tactile stimulation." She moved closer and stood on tiptoe so her lips were touching his ear. "I’m betting it’s the same for Time Lords."

His shallow breathing disintegrated into light panting.

"Am I right?" She flicked her tongue into his ear and could almost hear the blood rush south from his head.

A pair of hands grabbed her hips. “Rose…”

"Doctor." Her tongue left his ear, replaced by her teeth on his earlobe.

"Rose, you…" he moaned, his eyes lolling back into his head.

"Just trying to make everything better." She trailed her lips down to his neck but they didn’t stay there long; in a rapid movement she wasn’t expecting (but wished for every night), he forcefully pulled her hips forward to meet his and smashed his mouth against hers. Teeth knocked, tongues were dry, but the raw need in his ravaging overpowered the small details and his moan ricocheted through her lips and down her spine.

He pulled back only long enough to stumble them both backwards against the wall, his eyes darker than she’d ever seen. His mouth was everywhere at once: kissing her neck, biting down on her shoulder; licking a line down her chest from clavicle to heart; sucking on the underside of her breast after removing her bra as easily as if it only required the press of a button.

It was without ceremony, the Doctor still swirling his tongue around the base of her nipple, that she felt trembling fingers slide under the waistband of her knickers and slip between her swollen folds. His hips rolled against his scouting hand as he slowly inched a finger inside her; when she spasmed into his touch, his pelvis followed suit and both throbbing centres were rutting desperately against his hand.

"Doctor…" she whimpered, fisting a long clump of his fringe and tugging. 

"Rose, I can’t…it’s been too long, I…" His eyes were wild and he was breathing as if he’d just run a marathon.

"I need you now," she panted, "please, Doctor…"

No sooner had she spoken the final syllable of his name than he was freeing himself through his unbuttoned trousers, lifting her leg around his waist, and holding aside the crotch of her knickers. The tip of his pulsing erection hovered at her entrance as he shifted her leg to brace his hand against the wall. As her hips bucked forward involuntarily at the sensation, he slipped up between her folds and brushed along her engorged clit.

"Doctor!" she moaned, dizzy with vertigo at the edge of a precipice. He needed no further urging and after a hasty adjustment slid into her with one groaning thrust. With no patience for the time he was giving her to adjust, she rolled her hips against him and his entire body shuddered.

“No, I need—“ he gasped out, gritting his teeth.

“I’m close, it’s okay, please!”

He clamped his mouth down on her shoulder, sloppily biting and sucking at the flesh as he slammed into her with uninhibited abandon. Digging her nails into his back, she tried to match him thrust for thrust but gave up as his rhythm degenerated, flinging her head back and moaning every time he hit home.

“Rose!” he pleaded, frantically dropping his hand to rub between her legs.

And that was it.

It, in as far as _it_ meant the end of the world and the end of the universe and the end of time; the explosion of the stars and the implosion of an infinite black hole. 

His legs collapsed under him as he pulsed into her and they fell to the floor, boneless and fearless. Pulling her on top of him, he sank to his back and wrapped his arms tightly around her heaving torso. When their breathing had slowed and her vision no longer consisted of white swirling stars, she opened her eyes to see him staring at her in unabashed awe.

“How’s that sensitivity?”

“I think I could swim in a pool of woollen jumpers,” he laughed breathlessly.

“Say it then: was I right?” she grinned, tucking her head into his arm so she could see him without craning her neck. 

“Fine. The most potent source of oxytocin is orgasm. Even in Time Lords. Bloody hell, Rose, just…wow.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, nuzzling into his arm. “So does that mean you can wear fewer layers after the next time we do that?”

“I may even unbutton my shirt and not wear a tie,” he promised with a smirk, leaning over to nip at her lower lip. “As long as I get enough top-up Rose Tyler touches throughout the day.”


	9. Nine/Rose; Jealousy; Shackles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **This is extremely smutty, bondage themes.** _Pre-established relationship_

The TARDIS door slammed open with a loud bang and the Doctor stormed inside, a defiant but slightly bewildered Rose Tyler in tow. He didn’t let go of her hand once they were safely inside, instead hauling her alongside him as he punched the buttons and furiously pulled the levers to send them into the vortex.

“Doctor, what’s _wrong_ with you? Let go, you’re hurting my wrist.”

He tightened his grip and said nothing, his jaw clenching and his breathing rapid. He closed his eyes for a moment and then whipped around to face her.

“Don’t wander off. How difficult is that? How hard is it for that tiny little brain of yours to decipher and remember those three simple words?”

“I was just trying to help that fa—”

“Then you _tell_ me that next time, you don’t just take off—”

“You were too busy chatting up that three-eyed woman,” she interrupted with anger flashing in her eyes. “I _said_ I was going, I pointed out the kids and everything, you nodded at me. It’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention to your little human plaything.”

“Plaything?” he growled, stepping closer to her with fury in his eyes. “Liability is more like it.” His eyes darkened and she stepped back. “But I’ll show you ‘plaything’, if that’s what you think you are. Turn around and face the console.”

She felt heat and moisture rush between her legs but she stood her ground. “No. You’re acting like a git.”

“Last warning, Rose Tyler. Face the console, now.”

“Why should I?”

True to his word ( _oh, she loved it when he followed through on those threats_ ), he spun her around and pressed her roughly against the controls. Before she could wriggle out of his grasp, he was flush at her back and her wrists were firmly shackled to a pair of levers.

“Where did you even get those fro—”

“I’m done hearing you speak. No more talking.”

She rubbed her legs together in anticipation.

His hands were under her dress, sliding up her thighs and across to her breasts. A moan crossed her lips as he pinched a taut peak between his fingertips, the other hand cupping and kneading its twin. His lips were on her neck, moving slowly up to her face.

“Okay?” he asked quietly, his breath cool at her ear. She nodded quickly, rocking her hips backward into his rock hard length.

“Legs apart. Bend over.”

She obeyed readily and his hands left her body. Glancing over her shoulder, she licked her lips as she watched him unzip his jeans and pull them off his legs.

“Face forward,” he ordered,

“Doctor…” she moaned, half-whined.

“Right.” Before she could turn her head back to see what was causing his silence, something warm and soft was being shoved into her panting mouth.

“I warned you. Maybe this will do a better job of shutting you up.”

A strangled moan, muffled by his cotton briefs, forced itself out her throat and she ducked her head forward in submission. He ripped off her sopping wet knickers and tucked the hem of her dress into her collar. His breathing became even heavier as he stood back and watched the sight in front of his eyes: Rose Tyler, her backside completely bare, bent forward over his console, her legs spread and fidgeting, her hands handcuffed to the controls, his still-warm boxer-briefs in her mouth. Rummaging through his pockets, his eyes never leaving his prize, his fingers closed around a little-used camera and he took several shots, turning on the flash even though it wasn’t needed just to alert her to what he was doing.

A muffled and unintelligible noise made him snicker. “I assume you’re asking for different angles. Happy to oblige.” He moved in closer and snapped a photo of her gagged mouth. “There. Wouldn’t want to forget _this_ a thousand years from now,” he observed as he trailed a light finger up inner thigh, removing it when he got near her folds.

She whimpered and arched her hips further up in the air, wiggling them to try and locate him but he stepped away.

“I might just leave you there. Quite hungry, me, could do with a snack.” He skimmed a finger up her spine and she shivered but didn’t attempt to make any further protestations.

“Or I could land us on Earth and pick up some of your friends. I’m sure Mickey the idiot would love to see this.”

She remained quiet and he rewarded her with a quick swipe of his thumb across her glistening clit. “But I won’t. Instead I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll be too sore and senseless to wander off ever again. Got that?”

Her only noise was a moan of agreement. Two fingers inside her dripping wet slit confirmed her readiness and with a grunt he grabbed her hips and plunged himself in to the hilt. He held himself still, panting heavily and closing his eyes in an attempt to slow things down, but it was too late for that and he only managed a few slow, teasing strokes before disintegrating into desperate and wild thrusts.

His motions were too rough for Rose to keep up with, chained to an awkwardly spaced set of levers, so he moved one hand up to brace them both against the console. The other hand dropped to her engorged clit and rubbed furiously at it in time with his hips’ thrusts.

“Come _now_!” he roared a short time after, feeling his balls rise and tighten. “You are mine and you _will_ obey me: come!”

His vision turned white as he pumped his seed deep into her womb and his muscles almost gave out in relief when he felt her walls contracting rhythmically around his pulsing cock. He just managed to reach around and pull his pants from her bulging mouth before collapsing on top of her for a second and then sliding down to the floor.

“Doctor,” she whimpered a few seconds later, gently adjusting her mildly aching jaw. He managed to look up to see her legs shaking and jumped to his feet faster than he ever thought possible after such a powerful orgasm.

“Rose! Rose, I’m so sorry, here, I’ll…” he cried as he hurriedly unlocked her shackles and gathered her into his arms. He sank them both down to the floor and held her in his arms, rubbing her back and kissing her head. Too emotionally unhinged to keep it back any longer, he felt the sting of tears in his eyes as he buried his face in her hair. “I thought I was going to lose you, when I heard they’d arrested you…they have instantaneous capital punishment here, I… Please, Rose, don’t leave me, don’t wander off, I couldn’t take it if…”

A pair of tender fingers reached up and cupped his cheek. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to help. I was jealous, too, how you were talking to that woman… But I’m not leaving you, not now, not ever. Okay?”

“Okay,” he whispered and lifted her wrists up to his lips. “Do these hurt?”

“Nah, not really. Your handcuffs are surprisingly soft. And don’t think we’re not having a discussion about where those appeared from later. From the perspective of whether you have any more toys like that and whether we can use them tonight.”

“Rose…” he moaned, “I don’t deserve you…but I’m so grateful you’re mine.”

“Yours,” she promised and tilted her head up to kiss his lips.


	10. Nine/Rose; Crushed; Boy

The Doctor exhaled a long breath and finally allowed his shoulders to drop down from mid-ear level. As he turned to the soft and warm human watching him from across the console, a slow grin slid up his face.

"Guess not everyone has our stamina, eh, Rose?"

She didn’t smile in response like he was expecting, instead scrunching up her forehead in a thoughtful expression as she glanced over at Jack’s retreating form and then back at him.

"Guess not," she replied but her mind was blatantly elsewhere. She drummed her fingers across her thigh.

The rhythm was remarkably mesmerizing and he forgot what they were talking about. Stamina. No, not stamina. Being alone finally. No. Bedtime? Definitely not. Wait. Maybe?

"Doctor?" she asked, biting her lip and thankfully interrupting his derailing train of thought.

"Yes, Rose?" If his voice came out a little rough, he’d claim it was just his normal gruff tone. Normal. Not affected by thoughts of…bedtime. And being alone with her. And…stamina.

"I was thinking about what you said about changing norms for humans in the future…and how I—most people in my time, really—have such black and white views of, you know, sexuality and species and…gender…"

He didn’t like where this was going. He didn’t know where, exactly, but it couldn’t be in a good direction. “Not your fault!” he rushed to buoy this sinking ship. “It’s part of your charm, like visiting an ancient city.” He started edging toward the hall. “Not to say you’re a tourist attraction, not an attraction at all. Nope.” He picked up his pace. “Okay, good night!”

"Doctor."

He sighed and turned to face her. “Yes?”

"It’s just… I never really thought about it but English is weird; we have ‘he’ and ‘she’ but ‘I’ is neutral, so there’s no way to make the personal declaration about whether you’re male or female… and shouldn’t that be the real test? Whether _you_ identify as one or the other?”

"That’s just English though. Loads of languages have first-person gendered pronouns. Klixian, for example, has twenty-eight different ways to say ‘I’ and—"

"That’s what I mean," she cut in, "I’ve been too inflexible to even consider any possibilities beyond male and female. I bet other species have all sorts of different genders…"

"They do, yes." He glanced longingly at the freedom of the corridor, only a few meters away.

"And…I just _assumed_ , I don’t think you’ve ever said, explicitly anyway…”

His hearts crushed into more pieces than stars in the sky.

"Rose Tyler, are you seriously asking me whether I’m a boy or a girl or…some other iteration?"

"Noooo," she backpedalled at the look in his eyes, "more like wondering if Time Lords _in general_ fell into those two categories. Um.”

"You were. You suddenly wondered what gender I am. I…" He trailed off, not even knowing what to say to that.

"I know. I know you’re…a guy," she hastened on but there was a slight rising question in her words. Mouth hanging open, he could only nod despairingly. "I was only wondering if it meant the same thing as it does for humans. I mean… Did blokes usually, er, dance with females on your planet or was it completely different?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded again, partially wondering where his acerbic wit had disappeared to and partially cursing himself for feeling like he wanted to cry. _I mean, men._

"Humans follow the same general template as Time Lords," he finally forced out, over-enunciating his words in a failed attempt at regaining some composure. He understood where she was coming from; he couldn’t say he didn’t admire her open-mindedness and she was completely correct in her musings…he just wished it didn’t hurt quite so much.

"Oh. Good. I mean, not good—not bad!—just, okay. Thanks for telling me."

The Doctor puffed out a long short breath of air as she continued to watch him, chewing on those blasted lips again. Blasted, sensuous, bitable—same difference. He twisted his own lips into something he hoped resembled a smile and turned to leave.

"Doctor."

He stopped and closed his eyes, still facing away from her. “Rose.”

"It’s not that I don’t think you’re a bloke. It’s hard to miss. I was only trying to understand…" She swallowed. "I wanted to make sure…I didn’t want to misinterpret things and feel like a fool if you didn’t feel the same way or you didn’t do things like that…”

He spun around. She dropped her gaze down to the grating.

Had his hearts broken into a three trillion times a hundred billion pieces? Because they seemed awfully complete now. If not in danger of exploding into flame.

It only took seven steps to stalk back over to where she was sitting with her arms around her legs on the jump seat. She tentatively lifted her eyes to meet his.

"Do you need proof?"

Her eyes widened.

So did her legs when he parted them and moved to stand between them.

So did her slow smile.

"Yeah?"

The only thing that got to him more than when she bit her lip was when she poked her tongue out from behind her teeth. She was doing that now.

So he made it his own.

It was an awkward stretch, bending his head down far enough to capture that tongue, those lips, but he barely noticed. Easy thing to fix, anyway, as he spread his hands across her hips and dragged her forward to the edge of the seat and used his knee to adjust the seat’s height. He ground his pelvis against hers and he knew there was no way she could fail to notice the confirmation of his sex rutting against her crotch. She whimpered and pulled him closer, wrapping her legs around his waist and raking her hands up his back.

She moaned as he hit just the right spot, grinding in further as his lips moved down her neck. His hands slipped under her t-shirt and his fingers pressed into her back.

"Boy or girl?" he growled, his words hot and moist in her ear. He smelled other body parts becoming hot and moist.

"Man!" she gasped as one hand slipped under her jeans to knead at the soft flesh. 

He lifted her into his arms, his hands still gripping her bare bum, their sexes still joined. “I’m not sure you do know. Sounds to me like you need indisputable proof.”

"Yes," she keened, "please!"

He’d never moved so quickly down his own ship’s corridors as he did with one Rose Tyler wrapped around his waist, her lips sucking on his shoulder. He smirked as he drew out two teasing orgasms from her in his bed, groaned as he slid inside her and felt her walls stretch and strain around him, grunted as he rubbed desperately at that precious bundle of nerves to coax out her third, and fell silent as his hearts finally did burst into a blazing inferno and he pumped cool fluids deep into her heat.

"Manly…stamina…" he squeaked out into the pillow of her chest where he’d collapsed.

"Definitely manly," she giggled, panting. "Although…that last noise was a little…effeminate."

He raised his head with great effort and bore his eyes into hers.

"I think I might need more proof," she remarked with feigned nonchalance.

It was already hardening inside her.


	11. Nine/Rose; Ten/Rose; Furious; Sheet

_I’m too tired to play this game._ No response. _Pretty please?_ Nothing. _You’ve chosen the wrong day to mess with me._ Emotional silence. He tries another tactic, imbuing as much concern and anxiety into his thoughts as he can squeeze out. _Are you alright? Is something wrong, is that why you’re not answering?_ She impresses nothing except a general feeling of haughty mirth. Right. Telepathic. Bonded. Never could fool her…

_Fine. Just so you know, I’m furious with you._ She knows. She laughs.

He snatches his t-shirt from where he’d folded it neatly on the nightstand only seconds ago and stomps out of his room, storming down the corridor toward Rose’s quarters. He doesn’t bother trying the multitude of other bedrooms he passes. They’ll all be locked.

His rage drains when he gets there and her scent leaks out from her cracked-open door, overwhelming his olfactory cortex. Should she smell this good? Did she always smell this good? Fire and glowing coal and citrus and something else he can’t identify, something that makes him want to fall to her feet in supplication. Glaring at his shaking hand, he raps lightly and then slowly pushes open the door when she doesn’t respond. “Rose?” No response. Much like the other woman in his life.

The TARDIS dims the hallway lighting as he pushes open the door further and steps inside; she won’t allow him in his bed but she’ll make sure Rose isn’t disturbed by a sudden influx of light as she sleeps. Sounds about right.

Luckily, or unluckily, he can see her equally well in the dark as he can with midday sun casting halos in her hair and he creeps over to her bed without tripping on the piles of clothes littering the floor. He kneels down and lightly brushes the arm that’s hanging off the side of the bed, curled around the bed skirt.

"Rose?"

Her fingers fist the material tighter but otherwise she makes no other movement.

"Rose, the TARDIS isn’t letting me in my bed, she shortsheeted me…Rose?"

He watches her stir and eventually dozily force open one eye.  “Doctor?”

"Yeah," he whispers, "do you mind if—"

Her fingers move to close around his t-shirt and her eye snaps shut again. “Where’ve you been?” she slurs, still mostly asleep.

"Uh, Rose, I—"

"Just get into bed," she mumbles and pulls him over her slumbering form.

He’s caught off-balance and barely manages to avoid crushing her by rolling to her side, his legs flailing in the empty air.

He’s caught mentally off-balance when she turns and wraps her arms around him, pinning him in place.

He’s completely floored she encircles his legs between her thighs and strokes her foot up and down his bare leg.

"Ro—"

"Shhh," she cuts him off, "night time for humans now."

She nuzzles into his chest and sighs contentedly. His breath hitches.

Nine hundred years, almost a dozen different bodies, at least sixty galaxies and thousands of planets, and _never_ has he experienced anything as blissful as being knotted up in her limbs. Never has he wanted anything more; never has he relaxed enough to allow it, even if for only a few precious and searing moments. He was tortured today, saw the reemergence and death of his oldest enemy, believed the brightest spark in his life to be stamped out by his own boot, had been ready to lay down his moral code, _his life_ , to keep her safe…

And he’d go through it all again just for another minute in these arms.

Tears prick behind his eyes as he reluctantly begins to disentangle himself from his hearts’ delight, his morning hope and his evening regret, but she only tightens her hold and snuggles in closer.

"You can kick off the covers if I’m too warm for you," she murmurs into the crook between his shoulder and neck, "but stay, yeah?"

"Yeah," he barely manages to choke out.

"Your voice sounds funny. Are you getting sick?"

He clears his throat. “No.”

"Good. Then I can do this…"  

In slow motion, he feels her lips part and brush along his skin before forming a seal and sucking lightly. Her tongue darts out and delivers a spine-tingling swipe across his neck and a light hum of content reaches his ears. He shudders and holds his breath.

Her lips travel over his throat and down until she reaches his t-shirt collar. All he can see of her is golden head of hair, flyaway strands fluttering in the breeze of his heavy exhalations as time ticks on and she doesn’t dissolve away as she does in his dreams.

He watches his hand rise up and tentatively brush back the hair from her face. She leans into his hand and moves her lips to kiss the rough and calloused skin. “You need moisturising,” she whispers huskily, so completely incongruous with the situation at hand that he bursts into nervous laughter and she giggles in response.

The soft cotton of her vest top wrinkles around his finger as he trails it down her side to rest his hand on her hip.  “Rose, are you…how awake are you?”

"Completely," she intones into his ear, at the same time slipping both hands under his t-shirt and bunching it up on his chest. He feels every single hair follicle on his stomach quiver as she lazily drags a nail in circles around his belly button. 

"Rose!" he squeaks and desperately tries to pull his hips further away from her as the blood rushes south but she’s too quick. With a roll of her pelvis and a contraction of her leg, still wrapped around his, she draws them flush against each other.

Something is unexpected and not in the way that he never expected this could ever happen and he can’t pinpoint what it is as she moves her hand below his naval under his pajama bottoms and she bites down on his neck and he can’t remember what he was nonplussed about when she moves her hips in such a way that she delivers a shot of adrenaline and need and dopamine and neurotransmitters straight to his peripheral physiology and his central nervous system and there used to be more in his mind but there isn’t now and—

She freezes, one hand around his throbbing erection and the other cupping his ear and moving painstakingly slowly across his close-cropped hair. Without releasing her lower hand from around him, she moves her hand from his hair down to the lines across his forehead and them down to his nose. He holds his breath again, not daring to move a muscle.

"Doctor?" She speaks the word with terrifying incredulity.

Nine hundred years of running, almost a dozen different sets of muscle, more than sixty galaxies and thousands of planets filled with enemies and misunderstandings and he’s never moved so fast as he does now.

"Yes, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!" he stammers, horror drowning his lungs. He stumbles backward over her vanity table and crashes to the ground, continuing to skitter away even as he lies collapsed in a heap on her floor.  "Please, forgive me, I thought…I thought you knew it was me; please, I didn’t…" he begs, screwing his eyes closed against his unforgivable transgressions.

He hears her take a couple of deep breaths before pushing back the sheets and sliding out of bed. “Doctor,” she whispers softly. This time she says his name with wonder and he hesitantly cracks open his eyes.

That smile, _that_ smile, breaks across her face like the first glimpse of a sunrise and his hearts stop. Her teeth scramble for purchase across her lips but they’re stretched too wide.  She waddles over to where he’s staring up at her.

Wait.

"Rose, you’re…pregnant." He reflexively starts to reach for the pocket where his sonic would be if he was dressed but she stills his hand.

"And _you’re_ in the wrong time stream. I’m your future, not your present.”

He gapes. “You…you’re my future?”

She grins again. “Yep! Stuck with me, you are…”

"The TARDIS must have…"

"Yeah. It’s probably our TARDIS actually, she’s been a little muddled lately, what with the new timeline here…" She rubs her distended belly and blushes at his expression. Probably somewhere between fear and longing.

"It’s…" He can’t even complete the question in his own mind.

"I guess you’ll just have to live it and find out," she teases but the look in her eyes gives him all the answer he needs.

"The TARDIS knew exactly what she was doing," he whispers as he regains enough bodily control to sit up.

A look of sudden comprehension crosses her face. “Is this after the fir—the Dalek? In the underground bunker?” He nods and she takes his hands in her own and moves them over her stomach. “I was so worried about you that night. You seemed so…broken. I asked you if you wanted to talk but you just shook your head and trudged away down the hall.”

He averts his eyes but doesn’t relinquish his hold on the wildly kicking parcel of possibilities and impossibilities under his fingers.

"And in the morning…well, you seemed so much…lighter. The darkness, the despondency, the weariness in your eyes… Still there, but more faded than I’d ever seen. I thought you’d just had a good nights sleep." She swallows and put her hands above his. "And Doctor?  It kept fading. Every single day."

"I’ll have to forget this, of course." He head is bowed and his throat is tight. "But I must retain something. If I manage to keep once molecule, one _atom_ of the joy I feel now…”

“You will. And we will. Soon. Very soon.”

Nine hundred years, close to a dozen bodies, all those galaxies and planets, and never once, in all his life, has he felt more hope than he does right now.


	12. Nine/Rose; Emery, Fuming

"Rose!"

She propped her ankle up onto her bent knee and continued filing her nails.

"Rose! Are you in there?"

"Hmm?" she hummed casually, as if she hadn’t heard the thundering of his footsteps from the other side of the TARDIS.

"Rose!"

"It’s open," she said calmly.

"Right, yes," he muttered as he tuned the door handle, "as if any lock could keep me out."

"What’s that?"

"My ship, my…that’s not the point. Don’t lie there looking so innocent, Miss Tyler. I see right through your little game." He stomped over to the side of her bed and crossed his arms. The look he shot her was probably supposed to be his mighty oncoming storm expression, but she only giggled and moved the emery board to the other hand.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did you cut yourself shaving again?"

"Cut myself…No! I’m referring, you sneaky little human, to the bloody _carpet_ that has suddenly and inexplicably appeared in the console room!”

"You’re awfully worked up about a carpet: do you have a history of blood pressure problems?"

"What does blood pressure have to do with carpets?! I told you one thing. Well, two things, but you don’t listen to the ‘don’t wander off’ rule either. I said ‘don’t you dare go and make this place domestic’.”

"A rug is too domestic for you? What’s next? Having a roof’s too domestic? Eating’s too domestic? ‘Sorry, Rose, pyjamas are too domestic…’"

The Doctor opened his mouth to retort but somewhere along the way his attention became distracted and his mouth hung open for a few seconds before any words were formed. “It’s pink, Rose! There’s a little pink _decorative_ rug sitting on the grating. In my TARDIS.”

"And?" She shaped down her thumbnail and sat up, flinging the file to the floor. "Are you so insecure that you can’t even handle a tiny throw rug? With one minuscule red flower on it, I should add. The rest is plain old blue.”

"Yes!" The Doctor reconsidered at her amused silence. "I mean, no, completely secure, me. But it’s not happening. Get rid of it right now."

Rose raised an eyebrow and examined her nails.

"Please," he mumbled under his breath.

"What’s that?"

"Please come remove the rug." He glared at the floor and kicked an errant sock near his feet.

"Sure! But you should probably come see how useful it is before we chuck it out." She stood up and took the Doctor’s hand. He tried to maintain his glower as she pulled him down the hallway but he ended up looking more like a clown with a facial tick.

"Decoration is by definition non-utilitarian, it exists only to distract the eye and force pleasant feelings on lower species with brains only drawn to flowers as signs of beauty. Flowers, I mean, really Rose. They’re lovely, but what about the beauty of geometry, the spread of the stars, the—"

She allowed his rant through the corridor, but once she’d dragged him over to stand by the new rug, she decided she’d heard enough. His mouth snapped shut when her fingers slid under his jumper and toyed with the button to his jeans.

"Rose? What are you doing? I’m—"

He didn’t speak anymore when she deftly unsnapped the button and slowly unzipped the zipper while lowering herself to her knees. A quick manipulation later, her hand was firmly wrapped around his swiftly hardening length and her thumb was calmly stroking the sensitive head.

He staggered backward into the console when she changed her hand’s position to encircle his now fully hardened erection and jerked him off a few times, his foreskin sliding over the tip with each stroke. Rolling her eyes playfully when a quick blow of air caused him to jump and step back too far away for her to reach while remaining on the rug, she stood up, still cupping him, and adjusted the rug to his new location.

"This is why a bigger rug would be better, really." Catching his eye (it wasn’t difficult), she sank to her knees again and engulfed him whole into her mouth. His eyes widened and she saw his hands fist, first into the air and then into the long strands of her hair behind her neck.

"Rose," he gasped as she lightly licked a line along the underside of his cock, swirling around the tip. She could taste the pre-come and knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Humming in response, she raised her other arm to gently cup his balls as she set up a steady rhythm of sucking and licking.

"Rose, you don’t have to…I’m going to…please, Rose…"

"I want to, good, and oh yes," she said around the hot pulsing cock in her mouth and the vibrations almost tipped him over the edge. Almost, but not quite. He also managed to just about hold himself together when she ran her teeth slowly down his length. Flicking her eyes up again, she smiled at his screwed-closed eyes and his tense jaw. Opening wider, she took him entirely into her mouth, swallowing him down her throat and then pulling back and repeating. His hands slipped down to clutch at her shoulders, obviously afraid he’d lose control and move her head himself.

Pulling back enough that her tongue fluttered across his tip, she squeezed his thigh to get his attention. When he finally managed to open his eyes, several raspy breaths later, she smirked and looked down at his throbbing length.

"Can’t wait to see where else we can put this."

That did it. She barely had time to close her mouth over him again before his balls tightened and he emptied himself into her waiting throat, his body rigid and his teeth bared like a wild animal.

His knees wobbled and she wrapped her arms around his waist before releasing him with a pop and dragging them both to the floor on top of the rug. Despite glassy eyes, he definitely perceived her winking and swallowing loudly, and with a hoarse groan, he rolled them over so that they were lying on their sides facing each other.

"You are the epitome of disheveled," she commented coolly, licking her lips.

"I wouldn’t talk," he noted, glancing significantly at her mouth. With a wide grin, she reached over and wiped off her mouth with his sleeve.

“So we’re keeping the rug?”

“Where can we buy more of them?”

Rose laughed, clicked her jaw, and straddled him.


End file.
